


A Valentine's Day Recipe: Eggs, Slippers, and Air Pollution

by breadknee



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, idk what else to tag?, platonic valentine's day, tony curses some but that really isn't important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 15:12:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17789729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breadknee/pseuds/breadknee
Summary: “‘Course, kid. Now hurry up. I’ll make some food for you.”“Oh, no. Sir, you don’t have to do that. You definitely do not have to do that. Please don't do that.”If he didn't know any better, he'd say Peter didn't want his cooking.





	A Valentine's Day Recipe: Eggs, Slippers, and Air Pollution

**Author's Note:**

> you know, i'd say i planned this, or that i even remotely have an excuse for this, but i don't.
> 
> happy valentine's day!

Peter Parker, for reasons he can’t fathom, comes back on Valentine’s Day.

Tony’s thoughts usually revolve around the word ‘fuck,’ a little bit of strong alcohol, and a whole hell of a lot of self-destruction. But, as he steps into the living room at a bright and early eight ol’ clock with a mug of coffee and his Iron Man slippers shuffling across the floor, his only thought is _what the fuck?_

It’s almost been an entire year since Thanos’s snap dusted half of Earth’s population, and Tony has almost gotten himself right again -- enough to be able to talk freely about Peter and the memories he shares with Aunt May. He was doing so good. 

He doesn’t really know what to do now. 

The kid’s standing in his living room and staring at the large assortment Tony picked up from the store yesterday. Flowers, chocolates, wine (the whole nine yards) -- all for Pepper. To, in part, apologize for his behavior the past ten months. And to show how much he loves her. She’s done so much for him, going so far as to gently take a bottle out of his shaky hands as he tried to drink himself to death. He just wants to do something to make up for it. Anything. It’ll never be enough, but he’ll keep on trying until the day he dies. 

Tony stands in the doorway of his living room, the coffee mug burning his palm from the way he was carefully holding it. Originally, his plan was to slouch in front of the TV for a few hours until Pepper got back from the office. Things never go to plan for him. So, instead, he stares at Peter and ignores the way the coffee threatens to spill over onto his hand. 

What do you even say to the kid who died in your arms ten months ago? Especially when he is (very, very) suddenly standing in your living room and inspecting the quality of the roses you bought your soon-to-be wife? Tony steps forward, not really knowing what else to do, his slipper sliding across the hardwood floor loudly. It’s then that Peter glances over his shoulder to blink at him. 

His eyes are still so, so innocent. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” the kid pipes up, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, and Tony knows he’s going to start trying to explain himself. “I would’ve knocked but, um, F.R.I.D.A.Y. said I could come in, and Pepper wasn’t answering the door and I didn’t know if you would be home so, uh, yeah. I walked in? I didn’t really have a plan. I just… did.” Peter awkwardly lifts a hand in a half-hearted shrug. Was he just planning on standing in the living room until Tony or Pepper came in? His gaze drops to Tony’s slippers, staring at them for a moment, before resettling on his old mentor’s face. “I would’ve called, but I don’t really have a phone anymore?” 

What the _fuck_ is he supposed to say?

He starts with the obvious elephant in the room. “How the hell are you alive?” Tony has half a mind to set his chilling coffee on the nearby table. “You _died_.” Questions are making his head spin as he tries to grapple with the concept that Peter is here. _Alive_. And is just standing in Tony’s house, chewing on his lower lip anxiously. 

“Mr.-- is it Doctor? I still don’t know? Anyway, Mister-Doctor Strange found a way.” When Tony’s stare prompted him to go on, he scrambled to find a way to explain. “He figured out how to use the stone, I think, in his mind? Because he’s connected to it through a spell. I’m probably wrong.” Peter pauses. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve messed up somewhere. Is it even possible to do that?” 

“Pete, you _died_. I watched it happen.” Tony’s pretty sure the wrecked tone in his voice was embarrassing, but he doesn’t really care at this point. Peter fucking Parker just came back from the dead, and the first thing he decided to do was stand in Tony Stark’s living room after ten months. _Ten months_. “I went to your funeral.”

Peter’s smile droops at that. Rather than responding, he pauses to clear his throat. Then, “is--” he swallows down the tears in his voice, “is Aunt May okay? She’s not hurt, right? Did she--” He cuts off, but the implication is there. _Did she turn to dust too?_

“I talked to her yesterday.” 

“Oh thank _god_ , I was so worried she was one of-- one of _them_. Those poor _people_ \--” Peter wrings his hands, looking anywhere but Tony. He can see grime under the kid’s nails. Briefly, he wonders what the kid had to do to survive. 

“He couldn’t figure out how to bring everyone else back,” he says suddenly, keeping his eyes pointedly on the rug under his socked feet. “There was a spell he created. For one-time use.” Questions threaten to break Peter’s story. They bubble in his throat and threaten to spill over, but Tony keeps quiet as he listens. “I was the only one who went through. They all said that I should go because I’m a ‘kid.’” He bends his fingers as he quotes the rest of the team. “They all had messages for me to give you, but I don’t really want to go into them now, sir, if that’s alright.”

“Christ, kid. Of course it’s fucking alright.” Peter blinks at him in surprise at the profanity, but his shoulders drop slightly in relief. 

Strange sacrificed himself, along with everyone else, for Peter. They all chose to stay for him. Part of Tony is selfishly glad that is was the kid. So, so selfish. A tiny, rational part of him wishes it was the whole team. Of course he does. They were his family. But if it had to be only one person? He would pick Peter too. Always.

Peter was family too.

_Thanks, Strange. I’ll pour you a drink. Hell, I’ll buy a whole beer company and let every barrel drain._

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. For everything.” Something in Tony breaks. Months and months of wishing Peter was okay, that he wasn’t dead, or dying, or stuck in some unknown place _all alone_ come rushing to the front of his mind. It takes only a few strides to get across the living room and throws his arms around the kid. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Peter sobs, “I should’ve listened, I should’ve stayed on the bus and gone to the stupid MOMA, even though I’ve already been there a hundred times--”

“Shut up, kid.” Tony presses his fingers into Peter’s hair. It’s irrational, but he just wants to remind himself it’s not dust. That the strands of brown hair between his fingers is real. Memories of Peter’s hair fading into the sand hide on the inside of his eyelids. “I’m seriously talking to May about grounding you for a _least_ four years.” He pulls away from the kid, but lets his hand rest on his shoulder to look him seriously in the eyes. “No more space adventures, alright?”

Peter gives him a lopsided grin. “Even when they figure out a way for us to live on Mars?” 

“Definitely not then. You’re staying right here. We can die with the air pollution.”

“Isn’t that a painful way to die?”

“Probably.”

“How do you know you’ll even live to be that old?” 

“Can you just shut up?” He definitely doesn’t want Peter to keep quiet, especially after missing him for ten long months, but he knows the kid wouldn’t shut up. Ever. Even if Tony would very much like him to. There are a _lot_ memories of Tony chucking a tool at the kid to stop him from talking.

“Mr. Stark, I do have, um, one request?” Tony drops his hand to go and retrieve his coffee cup. He sips it, even if it’s ice cold now. 

“Shoot.”

“Can I have some clothes?” He guesses that ‘death’ wasn’t really supportive of alternative clothing, because Peter’s still wearing his Spider-Man suit from his fight with Thanos. It’s ripped in several places and extremely, _extremely_ filthy. God, you can’t even _see_ the difference between the black webbing design and dirt. Idly, he wonders where Peter got the clean socks from. “I wouldn’t ask,” he continues, “but I’ve been wearing these clothes for months and they’re really starting to smell.” 

“Oh, I _definitely_ could’ve told you that.” The suit smelled like a skunk took a dive into straight tar and vomit and decided to mix a little blood and sweat in with it. Maybe some alcohol too. Tony’s nose took a big hit when he’d hugged Peter. There were even a few tears, but those were definitely because of the smell. Definitely. “Come on.” 

Suddenly, “Do you have any more of those slippers?” He swears the kid was laughing behind his back. 

“Kid, these slippers are _limited edition_. Do you really think I don’t own every set?” 

“Right. Well, I really like that they light up when they walk.” Tony can hear the smugness dripping from Peter’s voice. Just to mess with him, he makes sure to step hard enough for the tiny blaster noises to activate. It earns him a snort. 

Tony flicks on the light to the room he turns into, pausing to take it in. 

“I had this set up for you before Thanos and all that shit happened.” He looks around the room for the first time in almost a year. 

Spider-Man photos are framed along the walls, but that’s the only thing that was centered around the superhero. In an attempt to capture Peter’s simple style, Tony had the room decorated like the typical teenage boy would probably prefer. Dark gray sheets and a black comforter adorn the bed, equipped with a simple bedframe, and the carpet was a calming blue. A desk was shoved against one wall, a computer resting (brand-new, personally built by Tony himself) amongst a bunch of little odds and ends. There’s a flatscreen TV along one wall (with all the latest gaming consoles) and a couch. 

Honestly, it was kind of embarrassing that it took him so long to decorate it. 

Pepper said it was ‘adorable.’ Which it definitely is not. He just wanted Peter to have somewhere to stay when he and Tony worked on the suit late and had to crash on the couch. There were more than enough rooms in the house anyway. (His mind cruelly reminds him that there are even _more_ unused rooms now, but he elects to ignore it.)

Peter’s schoolbag rests on the desk chair, a silent gift from May. It used to be exciting, but the sight of his bag still hanging around after his death had curdled something in Tony’s stomach (once he’d gotten back on Earth after everything), so he haphazardly tossed it on the chair. He hasn’t been in this room since early April. 

“Wow,” Peter says in awe, staring about the room. “You really didn’t have to, Mr. Stark. Like, _really_ didn’t have to.” There’s an argument there for later, and he bets the kid’s going to try and refuse the room for the living room couch. Tony will proudly remind him how much it cost to decorate it, and Peter will awkwardly shuffle into the room to sulk about the money spent on him.

“I had more than enough room. Besides, you’re going to mess up my couch with your drool. Do you know how often I have to clean that up?” Peter has the decency to look sheepish. “Well,” Tony clears his throat awkwardly, “there are clothes in the closet and a bathroom through that door. No, every room has its own tiny bathroom. Your room isn’t special. And no, don’t argue about it. You have to use it. Go ahead and shower, Spider-kid. You _need_ it.” He makes a big show of plugging his nose with his fingers and waving the air around Peter, earning himself a light punch to the shoulder. 

“Okay.” Tony ruffles the kid’s hair roughly as he moves to leave the room, not caring in the slightest about the dirtiness of it. He’s just glad the kid is back. Though he knows Peter will probably move back with Aunt May tomorrow, he’s happy that he’s here, even for the night. 

“Oh, right. There’s Spider-Man slippers in the closet too.” Peter gives him another wide smile and moves to pull them out. “They make web noises when you walk on them.” He’s totally saying this from memory of the product description and not because he owns a pair. 

(They were _limited edition_.)

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter says sincerely, eyes still darkened with the memories of the weird purgatory-state-thing-place he was in for ten months. Hell, Tony doesn’t even know anything about it or if it _felt_ like ten months, a few hours, or even a year. Frankly, he doesn’t want to ask right now. 

“‘Course, kid. Now hurry up. I’ll make some food for you.” Peter swallows dramatically as eyes wide with terror. 

“Oh, no, sir, you don’t have to do that. You definitely do _not_ have to do that. Please don’t do that.” If he didn’t know any better, he would say Peter didn’t like his cooking. 

“How’s an egg omelette sound?”

“No, uh, actually, I’m allergic to eggs.” 

“Oh, are you? I thought I saw you eat eggs that morning when Pepper cooked breakfast?”

“Those… those weren’t eggs?”

“Are you sure? I’m, like, a genius and rarely forget things. I’m pretty positive they were eggs.”

“They definitely weren’t eggs.” Tony squints at Peter from across the room. 

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re lying to me right now. Are you lying to me, kid?”

“I would never lie to you, sir.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.--”

“Is unavailable right now!” Peter stands up quickly, trying to drown out F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice as she answers. “She’s down for a system check!”

“She’s never down for a system check. I do those myself.” 

“No, she definitely does them.” 

“I literally do those myself--”

“Anyway, I’m going to get a shower, Mr. Stark! See you in a bit!” Peter grabs any clothing he sees from the closet, ripping a shirt off the coat hanger and yanking a pair of jeans from the drawer. He practically bolts into the bathroom, slamming the door shut with a determined click of the lock. 

“You forgot underwear!” This only prompts Peter to zip out of the bathroom and grab a random pair of underwear and socks before scurrying back to start the shower. Tony sips from his mug and rolls his eyes, grimacing at the taste of the cold coffee. If Tony Stark had only one skill, it would be his ability to make anybody in his vicinity embarrassed. 

When he hears music and (very) off-key singing drift from the bathroom, his heart tightens in his chest. Peter is here, home, and going to be okay.

It’s a long road to recovery, and the kid’s bound to hit a few bumps along the way, probably in nightmares, panic attacks, and severe PTSD, but he’ll be alright. Tony’ll be there every step of the way. For every therapy appointment, every self-destructive moment, every outburst, flinch, and cry.

He’ll make sure of it.

He’s not losing his kid again. 

Tony Stark never considered himself to be a father, not even a father figure, but as he listens to Peter sing Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” terribly as he tries to hit every, single line, he knows he could. That he could be a father to Peter Parker. God, he really wants to be.

Though, honestly, the kid’s singing is a bit atrocious. He sets a reminder to call May later and try to explain just exactly how her nephew is alive. But, for now, he focuses on getting something in Peter’s (most likely, completely empty) stomach.

For once, he’s glad Peter takes long showers because he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing as he measures out the ingredients F.R.I.D.A.Y. instructs him to grab and throws them in a bowl and skillet. (It took him at least five minutes to even find the skillet, let alone gather all the ingredients and bowls). It takes him at least forty-five minutes (at _least_ ) to conjure up a semi-decent omelette and find a plate to slide it onto. He sets it on the table, rights the napkins and fork, and moves to brew another strong coffee. A little alcohol might’ve found its way into it, but he _deserves_ it after the morning he’s had. I mean, he did meet someone came back from the dead, and that’s gotta count for something, right?

If anyone says he burns Peter’s omelette and has to start from scratch three times, then that’s just an obviously _blatant_ lie. 

_______________

When Peter comes out of the shower and spies the egg omelette on the plate in the kitchen, he gives Mr. Stark a tight smile and sits down. He’s not going to just _refuse_ a perfectly… good… omelette… yeah, he can’t refuse an omelette if it was made by Tony Stark himself. Like, that’s gotta be bad luck or something, right?

Even if he really, really, _really_ doesn’t want to eat the eggs. How did he even manage to make eggs that badly?

If he becomes nauseated for the next few hours and has to puke once or twice (at the taste, not the overall quality of the eggs, they weren’t spoiled or poisoned), then that’s perfectly fine. Because he’s home, and he’ll take really, _really_ bad eggs over what he went through any day. 

They get take-out from an off-the-wall Chinese restaurant down the block and watch terrible Valentine’s Day movies for dinner.

It’s the best Valentine’s Day Peter’s ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> i was too lazy to edit properly lol


End file.
